What Love Feels Like
by snow-dance
Summary: A series of events that makes Norway realise just how much he loves Denmark and eventually, Norway understands what love feels like.
1. Chapter 1

"_**What about a kiss?" (I)**_

The first time Denmark had ever asked Norway for a kiss was on one of Finland's birthdays. Iceland, who was still at a tender age, Norway and Denmark had been tasked to set up a picnic under a gnarled sycamore tree that stood alone on a hilltop just beyond a field teeming with wild corn.

Finland loves the tree like how he loves Sweden. It looked slightly lonely, but strong and independent. "Just like you, Sve!" Finland had said. Thus, every year, they made it a point to celebrate Fin's birthday under the shade of the huge broad leaves that belonged to the towering power tree.

Sweden had stayed behind in the house with Finland. They always performed the same ritual. Sweden would blindfold Finland, and taking Finland's hand ever so gently, Sweden would lead the birthday boy to the great sycamore.

The other three were trudging past the long corn stalks that populated the field. The sight was lovely. The corn, that is. They shone golden in the bright sunlight and they stretched out for miles in all directions. It was like a field of riches; a field of gold. A breeze made the corn stems bow and sway gently. Iceland, who was trailing at Norway's feet, was in awe of the sunny cobs that arched over his head. As Norway pushed past the kernels, the leaves and fronds would part and bend slightly, forming an arched shelter, showing the path Norway had taken.

Suddenly, a strong breeze had picked up from the south, and it sent Norway's sailors hat afloat. Norway reached for it a little too late, and the wind set the hat sailing over the heads of the corn stalks. Then there was a flash as Denmark ran after it with blinding agility.

Denmark ran and jumped and laughed as he pushed his way through the stalks. A trail of broken stalks outlined the Dane's route. When Denmark had finally caught the hat, he was breathless but still smiling nonetheless. Laughter danced in his azure eyes.

"Hey Norge!" Denmark called. " Got it for ya! How about a kiss? You know, as a thank you?"

Denmark laughed airily as he waved the hat like a trophy. He was using it as ransom. But Norway only marched on, ignoring Denmark. His fringe fell over his face, hiding his features – no, hiding his smile.

* * *

A/N: This will be done in the same way as i have done Las Palabras De Amor though the story flows in very chopped up sequence unlike the other. I love DenNor, don't you? (: R&R please (:


	2. Chapter 2

"_**Blue is the colour for Nordics!"**_

Iceland had been drawing a picture in the living room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Iceland was hunched over a piece of paper and he had carefully picked out all the blue colour pencils as he had begun whipping up his masterpiece. Norway was sitting on a sofa, his head buried in a book.

Iceland, who had been working fervently on his picture, had finally completed his work and he held it up in his hands. He grinned. It was at that moment when Denmark came into the room.

"Whatchya got there Ice?" Denmark inquired as he settled next to Iceland, flopping down on his stomach.

Iceland handed his piece of artwork over to Denmark, a triumphant smile on his face. Denmark observed the picture. Simply put, the picture was a disaster. It was a static mess of all shades of blue hurled into one piece of paper; navy blue, sky blue, Prussian blue, aquamarine, cerulean, indigo. You name it. At the top left hand corner of the picture, was a wobbly orb of lemon yellow. It was a sharp contrast to the fixating mass of writhing blue. Across the picture was a shaky horizontal line in black, separating the landscape art into two parts.

"Wow…" Denmark breathed. He was incapable of saying anything more. Whether to compliment or not, Denmark did not know. He never believed in deceiving the young, yet he couldn't put his heart to demoralize little Iceland.

"I like blue," Iceland declared , " the sky and the sea – they're both blue!"

Denmark looked at the picture again. _The sky and the sea huh?_ That must be the sun then…

"Blue has a kind of majestic feel to it, don't you think?" Denmark chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah! Power and strength too! Like the waves and the storms in the picture books Norway reads to me! Waves that go _CRASH_ and _WOOSH_ and storms that go _BOOM!_" Iceland giggled as he used his hands to enact the motion of vigorous water.

Denmark reached out for the black colour pencil, and on Iceland's art, he carefully draws a black vertical line down the paper, dividing the paper into four quarters. The drawing now has a black cross smack dab in the middle of the picture, the cross resembles the Chinese character for the number ten.

"Blue," Denmark said, " is the colour for Nordics. That's the Nordic cross right there, though it looks a little shabby… Anyway, we're powerful, strong and majestic! There's blue in every flag-"

"Except yours," Iceland interrupted bluntly.

"Yes, yes. I was getting to that. I make up for the blue with my blue eyes!" Denmark smirked. He thought he had just come up with the best logic before Iceland stamps it out.

Iceland frowned. "Both Norway and Sweden have blue eyes and blue flags…"

"Eh… Well… I guess that's what makes them all the more special." Denmark laughed, defeated.

Norway had been watching them from afar from where he sat. But gosh, that laugh. It was like a warm summer sun in the chilly morning, a hearty trumpet sound amidst the trill of a string orchestra, the explosive and lively fireworks to a dying, heartless night.

Norway hid his face further in his book as he caught himself following such an odd train of thoughts. A blush had begun to creep up his neck and spread across his face, turning his face to a lurid shade of rose pink.

Back where Iceland and Denmark were, Iceland looked at his picture again. After a moment of silent speculations, Iceland announced, " I think you've ruined my drawing."

"Eh!"


	3. Chapter 3

"_**What's the name of the brightest star?"**._

The Nordic family always had a kind of pull towards the sea. Especially Iceland. Iceland fancied the sea; he had a strong attraction towards it. The big house that belonged to Denmark towered high and mighty on a cliff that overlooked a vast, aqua landscape.

Iceland had been literally glued to one of the windows as he watched the sea churn out below; entranced by the waves. Finland's heart had melted for the little one and had suggested that they go down to the shore after dinner. Finland had pleaded with huge, beseeching, amethyst eyes that Sweden immediately relented. And when Sweden said, "Yes, everyone will go." It had literally meant just that, and the decision was made for everybody.

**ooOoo**

Trudging down the cliff and winding around it, all five of them made their way to the miniature beach. It wasn't long before the soft blades of grass underfoot were replaced with golden, honey-baked grains of sand.

Norway breathed in the air; it smelt salty, crisp and warm. His cool navy eyes scanned the view. It was absolutely breathtaking. The sea was calm and only several waves rose and broke against the rocks at irregular intervals. The sea looked like a broad, silver ribbon of stagnant water other than the few shallow waves. The stars and moon were painted onto the surface of the water; the shimmering reflections were dancing and wavering.

Norway slipped off his shoes and immediately, as he leveled his foot again, sand oozed between his toes. The sand was warm and he could feel the sun's cheery warmth in the collective mass of the golden grains. Slowly, Norway made his way towards the shore as he relished the feeling.

At the shoreline, the water bathed Norway's feet with cool, cerulean water. The receding waves tugged at his feet as well as the sand around him. The night was tranquil and peaceful.

"Hey Norge!"

The silence of the night was shattered just like that.

Cocking his eyebrow skeptically, Norway turned to address the newcomer. "What do you want, Denmark?"

"Blue shell," Denmark replied in all seriousness. A tinge of anguish overshadows his voice.

_Blue shells?_

"Why?" Norway inquired, he is amused, to say the least.

Inclining his head towards the other three Scandinavians who were huddled together, Denmark explained, "They started building a sandcastle, see? Ice wants to encrust his castle with seashells. So I kinda offered to pick some up, except he especially requested for blue one… Where am I supposed to get blue seashells?"

Norway noted that Denmark had sounded exasperated, and he remained silent. As the silence stretched between the two, Norway glanced at Denmark. Denmark was looking skywards, his head tilted back to observe the stars. Denmark's tousled hair was highlighted a brilliant, silver hue in the moonlight and his perfect azure eyes reflected a thousand stars. It was as if the stars lived in his eyes. They probably did.

"What's the name of the brightest star?" Denmark asked, finally. He was grinning.

Norway looked up. "The North Star," he said quietly.

The North Star was a blotch of white in the jet-black sKY.

"That's the brightest star every night, huh?" Denmark laughed.

No, Denmark was wrong. At least, to Norway, Denmark was wrong. To Norway, the brightest star was on Earth, to Norway the brightest star was standing next to him with sea water sloshing all over his boots. To Norway, the brightest star that night was Denmark. But of course Norway kept that thought to himself.

"D'you think Ice would mind if I substituted the blue seashells with driftwood?" Denmark asks finally, as he reverted back to the problem at hand. "I mean, these could make some _mean_ barrier for his castle!"

Norway said nothing.


End file.
